Night Moves

Moon Unit Omega

Rated M: language and lemons

Pairing: Jonda

Author's Note: This was inspired by the song "Night Moves" by Bob Seger. I had the idea drifting in the back of my mind for months before I actually took the time to write it down. Frankly, I'm quite pleased with it. If you think otherwise, tell me, but be actually literate about it and say why - I enjoy receiving constructive criticism.

I don't own X-Men Evolution, or the song "Night Moves". They are the property of Stan Lee and Bob Seger, respectively.

The meeting place was always the same. Since I could fly, and he couldn't, we met at a location closer to the warehouse - an abandoned shed in the outskirts of town. It was dark, and cramped, and it leaked when it rained, but it was safe, and that was what mattered.

We would meet late at night, after Mystique left for her "other job". We all knew she was a prostitute, and she knew that we knew, but it was never mentioned. My father was always plotting, so John could get away easily.

John and I agreed to meet like this for one reason and one reason alone: control. I had experimented with my powers, and found out that they were fueled by a mix of energy and emotion. If I slowly learned to stay calm and tranquil - Zoloft could only do so much - and control my powers in proportion to my anger, eventually I would be safe from myself. And the anti-mutant mobs who persecuted the poor, conspicuous ones. Like Todd.

Poor Todd. I almost felt sorry for him. But I couldn't afford to spare my sympathy.

However, the telekinesis and hex bolts were controlled by energy, so they weren't quite taken care of. I had no interest in depriving myself of all energy and becoming a vegetable living off a feeding tube, but any energy I didn't use was automatically converted into power.

So, to get rid of the power, I had to get rid of the energy.

The ways to do this were hideously unappealing. Most involved pills, or vomiting, or developing anorexia. None of these sounded particularly helpful.

But I found my answer when Mystique called a surprise attack on the Acolytes. She'd broken up with Sabretooth or something and was, to put it bluntly, pissed.

I ended up pitted against Pyro. He was so cocky - taunting me, setting new fires as soon as I put the old ones out.

"Pretty Sheila like yourself shouldn't be fightin' on a beautiful day like this," he remarked.

I was about to snap back, but something he said clicked. It was odd - he hadn't even said anything particularly perverted -

Wait.

It wasn't the words, it was how he said them. As if he were "flirting" with me! This realization brought on a burst od anger that fueled a hex bolt large enough to knock him out for a few hours.

Upon returning to the Brotherhood House, I retreated to my room and locked the door. During earlier research I had "borrowed" Pietro's laptop. I still had it.

After half an hour of Google-searching various topics, I got the information I wanted. Apparently certain acts, namely, sex, could sap energy for long periods of time. I calculated that if I wanted to work on controlling the emotional side of my powers, it would be best to perform the act around midnight or extremely early in the morning - 1 or 2 AM. That way I would be safe to practice for the rest of the day.

I was ecstatic and quite pleased with myself. Finally, I would be able to go out in public - to go to school, to see films, even to dance, to sing, to breathe the same air as nonmutants without risk of being carted away.

A tiny nagging though popped up nastily in the back of my mind. Yes, Wanda, that's all very well and good, but you're forgetiing an important part: the other person.

I cursed my own stupidity, then immediately set to work on this new problem. Females were out of the question - the equipment would be expensive, and the only lesbian I actually knew was Tabitha, and she was too loud for my tastes.

It also eliminated Xavier's students - they were too plain. Cyclops? Too strict. Nightcrawler? Too naïve. Spyke? No, thank you. And the others were too young.

Lance was the only one in the Brotherhood who was worth considering, and he was currently after the short, annoying brunette. Like pretty much every other mutant male in the state.

So the Acolytes were the only other option. Remy would be fun and he was good-looking, but he was stalking an X-Girl. Piotr would draw emotion form even the briefest liaison (what else can you expect from artists?). And the others were much too old. That left one person:

Pyro.

He was the perfect choice. Not as bland as an X-Geek, or as crude as one of my team-mates, but not as, well, aristocratic as the other Acolytes. He was also, according to my father's notes, about my age.

I waited to act until about a week after the fight. I wasn't stupid enough to walk right into my father's base and risk getting caught, though.

So I borrowed Lance's jeep and slipped over to a bar that Pyro frequented on nights when he didn't have to work. I don't remember the place's name. All I remember is that it was seedy, dark, and the vinyl stools were ripped.

I was wearing a red leather minidress so he wouldn't recognize me. He was at the pool table, easily spotted in a rust-colored shirt and black pants. The atmosphere was a blurry mist of cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and beer. I walked over, my five-inch heels clicking against the wooden floor.

"Hey, babe," I said, pitching my voice a full octave lower than normal. "Want to dance?"

Some guys cataclled. Pyro looked around, glaring, then turned back to me and nodded. I smirked and dragged him out to the dance floor.

The music was loud, and the bass guitar sent a throbbing pulse through the room. I had some idea of how to act in this situation, and slowly began to press my body against his. The song was short, but by the end he was already breathing fast. I had a peculiar, hot feeling at the pit of my stomach, but I dismissed it, thinking it was just the smoke and fumes getting to me.

The next song was faster, sort of techno. Pyro looked down at me, his bright orange-red hair falling into his eyes. "Got a name?" he asked, in his thick Australian drawl.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I snapped, reverting to my normal voice. I enjoyed the obvious look of confusion on his face.

"You're -"

"Yes. I know, I work for Mystique." I kept my voice down low - no use telling everyone that I was a mutant.

Pyro glared at me. "What d'you want?" he asked, scowling.

I looked up at him sweetly. "I have a proposition," I responded.

He seemed suspicious. "Like what?"

Luckily, I had been prepared for difficulties, and slowly, ever so slowly, I began to grind my hips into his. He was silent, trying to rebel, but I could feel the heat radiating from his body, and I could hear his short, almost gasping breaths.

In a low, husky voice, I began whispering my plan into his ear. I continued the grinding, but sped it up, and I felt his length throbbing against me. A part of me was slightly triumphant - another victory for the Scarlet Witch.

After I finished talking, he let out a short bark of laughter. "Let me get this straight, Sheila. You want me to fuck you so you won't be able to blast the shit out of people."

I glared at him, slightly annoyed. "If you put it that way, yes. Do you have a better idea?"

He rolled his eyes. "No."

"Then shut up. It doesn't need to start tonight. This will tide me over."

Pyro said nothing.

"Well?" I pressed. "Listen, if you say no, I'll leave. You'll have to sneak off to the men's room to finish what I started, and that's won't be fun." I ground into him slightly harder to add punctuation to this remark.

He groaned, partly in surprised pleasure and partly in annoyance. It took him a moment to consider, but finally, he sighed. "Fine."

"Good." Another techno song came on, and I steered Pyro over to the wall. He offered no objection. I ground against him harder and harder, faster and faster, felt him hard, pressing against my thigh.

It didn't take long for him to give up one last shuddering breath and hit his climax. Before I left, I thrust a small slip of paper into his hand - the location where we would meet the next night.

I left the bar feeling distinctly whorish, but exhilarated, as if I'd just run a marathon. I didn't even hear Lance yelling at me for stealing his car.

The next day was passed in anticipation, waiting for the chance to be in control at last. At eleven o'clock, Mystique had left, Toad was asleep, Freddy was gobbling some kind of mayonnaise sandwich (ick) and, by the sounds coming from upstairs, Lance was getting it on with that Pryde girl. I was only too glad to leave.

It only took me about fifteen minutes of flying to get to the shed. A spark of light told me that Pyro was already there.

I was slightly annoyed that he would start a fire, or something, which would only make us more conspicuous. I had even abandoned myusual red attire for a black tank, jeans, sneakers, and sweatshirt. That had almost been painful - I had grown quite attached to the color red.

I landed a few yards away from the shack, and walked the rest of the way. The door was open - John was inside, playing with a cigarette lighter, in the same way that other people would bite their nails or tap their fingers. He, also, had chosen black clothing - cargo pants, shirt, and leather jacket. He looked at me, and smirked.

"You're late," he remarked, pointing to a glow-in-the-dark watch face. 11:31.

I rolled my eyes, and walked inside. Whoever had previously owned the shack had neglected to remove some of their furniture. There was a small wooden chair, an end table, and (I was grateful for this) a sofa that had been pulled out into a bed.

I sat down on the sofa, which creaked slightly. John looked at me - his eyes were icy blue, and seemed to reflect the light.

"You a virgin?" he asked simply.

"Are you?" I shot back, slightly embarassed.

"No," he replied, amused.

"Well," I admitted peevishly, "I am."

He, surprisingly, nodded. "Though as much."

I coudn't really say anything to that. The hot feeling in my stomach had returned, along with a feeling of apprehension. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea.

But I couldn't back out now.

Pyro cocked his head to one side and looked at me. "Ready?" he asked. I nodded, biting my lip.

In seconds, we were both naked. I was on my back, with him on top of me. Out of sheer instinct, I spread my legs. The heat in my stomach grew stronger, and I tried not to show my fear. He rolled on a condom, and -

I felt a sudden, almost unbearable pain. My eyes slammed shut, and I gritted my teeth, but I was determined not to cry. I couldn't cry.

He understood, and gave me a few moments to adjust. The pain quickly ebbed away, to be replaced by the hot, wet feeling. He began to thrust into me. The heat grew, and the friction with it. The feeling was almost...pleasurable. No, definitely pleasurable. I began to match his thrusts with my own, and the pleasure escalated, until it hit an apex. I was concentrating too much to cry out, and we both fell back against the sofa, too tired to speak.

I barely needed any rest before I was able to return home. "Same time tomorrow," I whispered. He nodded.

I couldn't help but feel somewhat satisfied as I flew back to the Brotherhood House. I had gotten what I wanted, and that was what mattered. Wasn't it?

After we had been meeting for a few weeks, Pyro and I started to experiment. One time, he arrived extremely early. Logically, he explained, if I was to achieve more precise control over my powers, I had to make sure to use up more energy. I hesitantly agreed.

That was all he needed. In an instant, he had me against the wall. He ripped off my shirt, gazed hungrily at my chest. I was suddenly self-conscious, and crossed my arms, trying to prevent him from seeing anything.

"Trust me," he whispered. I nodded, and he nearly threw me down on the sofa-bed. I tried to steady my fall, and uncrossed my arms, searching for a handhold. I realized too late that this gave him access to where he wanted to go.

He swiftly undid my bra before I realized what was happening. But before I could yell, or push him away, his hands moved to my exposed breasts. My eyes shot open in total shock. Pyro began to suck at my breasts, biting, his tongue never in the same place twice. The same hot feeling I had had before was back, pounding from somewhere between my thighs. And it felt so damned good...

I noticed that this was getting a reaction out of him as well. With a wicked grin, I flipped him over - he seemed surprised that I was able to do this. He tried to resume his position, but he couldn't. I had secured his wrists and ankles with some spare energy. Pyro glared at me, and tried to writhe out of his bonds, but they were tight and wouldn't give.

I settled on top of him, straddling his hips. He glared at me. "What're you goin'ta do?"

I didn't respond. Instead, I ripped off his shirt, ignoring his protests. He wasn't that muscular - more wiry and lean. But I could ignore that. I was currently focused on unbuttoning his pants, which, by now, must have been unbearably tight.

Growing frustrated, I ripped them off as well. And then his boxers. And my remaining clothes. I blushed - I had never seen a guy naked in front of me before, much less an aroused, naked guy. My eyes had been closed previously. How it all - erm - fit together, seemed a little odd, now that I could see everything.

He seemed annoyed. "Don't just bloody sit there," he muttered, voice thick with some unknown emotion, possibly lust.

I nodded. Instinct and some weird, sick little personality inside my head told me what to do. I traced the muscles of his stomach and chest, noticing several shiny pink patches.

"Burns," I whispered. He nodded.

I shuddered - those must have hurt. But I didn't have time to feel sorry for him. I hated to admit it, but it was, in some wicked way, fun to see him completely at my mercy.

My fingers slowly trailed down his body, down his stomach, his hips, running along the insides of his thighs. As I did this, getting closer and closer to where he wanted me to go, he shivered with something like pleasure, or anticipation.

Finally, my fingers reached his length, upright and throbbing. I could hear his breath catch in his throat. I gripped him, and at an almost painfully slow pace, began to stroke him up and down.

I stopped for a second and looked at him - his eyes were glazed over with lust. "Sheila," he gasped, nearly panting, "y'-you're killing me."

My lips curved upward in a smirk, and I began to pump him faster, and faster, until he had gotten so hot that if I were to even look at him he would explode. And then I did something that surprised even myself - I licked his shaft from base to tip.

That was all it took. He groaned, and shuddered violently as orgasm hit him. He looked completely dead. Keeping the bonds up was tiring me. Surely it wouldn't hurt if I took them off?

Wrong. As soon as he figured out he was free, his eyes flickered open, and he pounced, rolling over on top of me, using one arm to hold my arms above my head. There was a positively evil glint in his eye. "It ain't nice to tease, Sheila."

I glared at him, annoyed to be caught in my own trap. "What are you doing?" I spat.

He leered. "Just returnin' the favor. Is that such a crime?"

I was, naturally, suspicious, but I relaxed. He removed his hand, and snuck the other one down between my things. Instantly, I felt his fingers rubbing my clit, massaging it, stroking it, sending waves of heat and pleasure coursing through me. Sometimes, it was almost painful.

Then...he thrust his fingers into me. However, I felt his tongue running over my clit, and the combination drove me over the edge.

But just a second later, he positioned himself and thrust into me again. I pumped my hips in time to his thrusts, and alternated clenching and unclenching my muscles. I had earlier learned that he liked that. He thrust harder every time, driving himself farther in, until we exhausted ourselves and fell into the bed.

That was how it went for most nights after that, with slight variations, each time better than the last. As the weeks and months passed, though, we began to spend more time in the shed, not just having sex, but conversing, talking.

I learned that his name was St. John Allerdyce. He was Australian by birth, and as far as he knew, was the only mutant in his family.

He had discovered his powers at an AC/DC concert. When one of the school jocks was waving his lighter around, Pyro had accidentally caught the boy's hair on fire.

He was a convicted arsonist, and had joined Magneto in order to get out of prison.

He had a cousin in Australia, named Sal, who he wrote to frequently.

His favorite color was orange.

His favorite video game was Kirby.

He earned extra money as a freelance writer for the Bayville Times.

His favorite movie was The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and he had gone to several conventions.

He also learned about me. I told him my name: Wanda Maximoff. I told him I was locked up in an asylum by my own father. I told him that Pietro snuck out every week to a gay bar to cross-dress. I told him that I was born Jewish, but had recently converted to wicca. I told him I was bilingual - in Polish and English.

And he listened to me. He actually cared what I said. I knew this was a big risk, that he could betray me to another group and I would be dead. But for some reason, I didn't think he'd tell anyone.

I told him about my powers, and how they were coming along. I told him if I had gotten angry at Todd, and no glass shattered. I told him if I was able to control my temper more easily than before. I told him if things didn't explode, or didn't break. And he cared.

He told me about the burns. He remembered where each one came from, what caused the fire, what happened afterwards. And I listened to him.

In those weeks that so quickly turned into months, I gained something I hadn't expected - a friend. But I didn't understand why sometimes, even when we were just talking, the hot feeling in my stomach came up. Or why sometimes, it hurt so much to leave.

About a year after we started meeting, I realized something. The last time I had made something explode was a week ago, and that was on purpose. And I hadn't gotten angry at Todd in three full days - a record for me. Could I have achieved control at last?

I gave it one last test. Slowly, and carefully, I slammed my bedroom door on my hand. The pain was a shock, and I cursed loudly. Realizing what I had done, I stopped instantly, listening for the inevitable cracking of glass.

I heard nothing.

Begging this to be real, I concentrated on a small bird's nest outside my window. Slowly it levitated above its branch, and flew over to the palm of my hand, where it dropped.

"No way," I whispered.

That night, I met John at the shack, and ran in with a smile on my face. "John! Watch!" I looked at the cigarette lighter he was playing with - the flame flickered out. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Can you -"

I nodded, brushing a tear of happiness from my eye. "Yes! I can control my powers."

John looked down, and blinked. "That's, uh, great. Yeah, Sheila. Congratulations." He smiled at me, although for some reason, it seemed forced, fake.

"We won't need to do this anymore," I said, searching his eyes for some form of happiness.

"Yeah," he replied, but it seemed distant, lost in thought. "I'd better go, then." He stood up, shoved his hands in his pockets, and started out the door. Before he left, he turned around and caught my eyes. "Take care, Wanda."

I nodded. "Goodbye," I whispered. But he was already gone.

When I returned to my bedroom, I couldn't help but feel that I had done something wrong. Maybe I had gained control, sure, but I had lost something as well.

The next day, I was quieter than normal. I spent most of the day in my room, drawing or doing crossword puzzles. I wasn't ready to tell any of the others yet.

But I couldn't help but be interested when I heard a blues-y, rock-y melody wafting up the stairs. I'd never heard the song before, but for some reason, I felt compelled to listen.

I was a little too tall, could've used a few pounds,

Tight pants points hardly reknown

She was a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes,

And points all her own, sitting way up high

Way up firm and high

Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy,

Out in the back seat of my '60 Chevy,

Workin' on mysteries without any clues...

Workin' on our night moves,

Tryin' to make some front-page drive-in news

Workin' on our night moves, in the summertime,

In the sweet summertime...

I ran downstairs. Lance was eating some kind of TV dinner and listening to the stereo.

"What's that song?" I asked.

Lance looked at me, surprised. "This, Wanda, is a rock-and-roll classic by Bob Seger. 'Night Moves'. Don't tell me you haven't heard it."

"I haven't," I snapped.

We weren't in love, oh no, far from it,

We weren't searching for some pie-in-the-sky summit,

We were just young and restless and void,

Living by the sword...

And we'd steal away every chance we could,

To the back room, the alley, the trusty wood,

I used her, she used me, but neither one cared,

We were getting our share...

"Could you turn it down?" I asked peevishly.

Lance grinned. "No way. Why? Is it bothering ya?"

Workin' on our night moves,

Tryin' to lose some awkward teenage blues,

Workin' on our night moves, in the summertime...

And oh, the wonder,

Felt the lightning, and we waited on the thunder,

Waited on the thunder...

"Yes," I replied. The song was getting to me. It wasn't a bad song, it just hit too close to home to be comfortable. "Does he ever sing about anything but sex?"

"Not really. At least, not in this song."

It had begun to rain a little, the drops hitting the rickety windowpanes. This was too odd. I stormed off to my room and slammed the door.

I woke last night to the sound of thunder,

'How far off?' I sat and wondered,

Started humming a song from 1962...

I sat on my bed. Looking outside, I thought: Not good weather for a fire.

With a pang of guilt, I realized what, or rather, whom, I had lost.

"Oh, my God," I whispered, and wasted no time in climbing out the window and flying off to the shed.

By the time I reached the shed, it was pouring. Thunder cracked outside, and the windows rattled. I ran inside, desperate to get at least some kind of a roof over my head.

As soon as I shut the door behind me, I heard a familiar voice. "Y're late, Sheila."

I whipped around, and came face to face with Pyro. I felt tears mixing with the rain and falling down my face. Inexpertly and clumsily he walked over to me and took me in his arms. I buried my head in his shoulder.

"I'm sorry..." I whispered, looking up at him. There was no sadness in his eyes now.

"Ssh," he murmured, kissing the top of my head. "Y're here, ain't you?"

I smiled sheepishly. "I guess."

Ain't it funny how the night moves?

When you just don't seem to have as much to lose?

Strange how the night moves,

With autumn closing in...

Fin